


First Mission

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Series: Time Agency [7]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Exposure, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If he's gonna moan about the heat, he may as well strip off. It's not like anyone here's not seen him naked.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Exposure' in [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Small prize for the first person who spots where I got the idea for this :)
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money from this

  
'Brakovitch, we're goin' the wrong way.'

'Shut up, Boeshane,' muttered the map-reader. It's been a long, heavy trek, they are all tired, the heat is unbearable and he could do without the cocky flyer with the blue eyes trying to tell him how to read a map.

'I'm tellin' you, we shouldda turned left back there,' he leaned over Brakovitch's shoulder and pointed. 'Where the path forked. Look, we're here - we're heading way up into the hills.'

'Yeah, he's right,' pitched in Jon, loyally.

'Oi,' called Shreena, the Senior Cadet, and therefore leader of the mission. 'Boeshane, you're only here to fly the ship home. Let Brakovitch do his job, OK?'

 _Those two_ , she thought. The most notoriously difficult pair of little bastards in the whole of the Third Year. Jon, with his cheeky grin and brilliant technical skills and complete disregard for everyone, and Boeshane, who was irritatingly handsome and could fly any damn craft you could name. And as if either of them weren't enough of a problem to have on a First Mission - with credits in Command and Discipline at stake for her - they were best-mates-who-fuck, and had formed their own little smart-alec gang of two.

Shouldering bags again, muttering, sweating, the party carried on, Boeshane still arguing with Brakovitch.

  
* * *

When they did make camp, in a clearing flanked by a couple of smooth, ivory-like white rocks, it was dusk - the long dusks you got on this planet. It was the end of day and they were close to the pick-up ship left by their instructors. The following morning, they could get back to civilisation and showers and food that wasn't rehydrated from a packet mix.

Of course it was Jon - it would be Jon - who had an illicit bottle of Cassiopeain claret in his bag and passed it round the fire after supper.

'Well, end of First Mission. Shreena's not got us killed, and Brakovitch has only got us a _bit_ lost,' he said, raising the bottle in a mocking toast, and then offering it to Shreena with a smile.

'Fuck you too, Jon,' she said, before taking a swig.

The bottle went round. They sang dirty songs, got tipsy. Boeshane got into an argument with Jon.

'I _so_ would,' he was saying, when the last song died down. 'But I'm not going to.'

'Embarrassed?' flared Jon back at him.

'No, just - I'm not that bothered.'

'You were whinging about the heat all fucking day.'

'What did I miss?' called Lasker, across the fire.

'I'm telling him, if he's gonna moan about the heat, he may as well strip off,' said Jon with a shrug. 'It's not like anyone here's not seen him naked.'

A couple of people looked at the ground. Boeshane Boy kept his face serene and not at all smug.

'OK, how's this? I will if you will.'

'Fine,' snapped Jon, and tugged his tunic buttons undone with one wrench. He threw it off, and hoiked his T-shirt over his head.

'Gone shy, Smartarse?' he demanded, his arms still enclosed by the T-shirt, his chest bare.

But Boeshane was on his feet, half laughing, half sulky, unbuttoning his own tunic hastily. Jon had wrenched off his boots, then turned and grabbed Boeshane, and undid his lover's trousers with one fierce tug. He peeled them down, slowly, exposing everything he had, his eyes locked on Boeshane's, feeling the sudden hitch in his breath, the broadening of his pupils as he was stripped naked. Arousal suffuses Boeshane's face, and he ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips.

No one is too put out by all this, because Boeshane's got an exhibitionist side and everyone in their year knows it. Jon glanced round the ring of firelit faces.

'No one joining us?' Laughing, a couple of the others began to undress too - quieter, more decorously - but it was unbearably hot, they were a bit drunk, and it wasn't like most cadets hadn't seen each other stripped in showers or dorms. And there's a freedom here they haven't felt since they joined the Agency. There are no authority figures - no _grown-ups_ \- to stop them, and fun, experimentation, and a little bit of enjoyable exhibitionism felt good.

Shreena joined in last, giggling - Julia, her best friend, was gently reaching for her belt buckle, and it just seemed easier and faster to undo it herself. Over a shoulder, Lester's shoulder, she saw Brakovitch, down to his pants, laughing, passing the claret bottle to Fea, who was leaning on his shoulder, a sheen of sweat on her breasts, glowing in the firelight.

Glancing round again, she saw Jon and Boeshane, both now completely naked - Jon's hands on his lover's shoulders, standing close but not touching. They looked like they were just staring deep into each others' eyes, but Boeshane was breathing deep and rapid, and she could see that he was rapidly getting hard.

'Oi! Jon!' she yelled across the clearing. 'Take him away and do something about _that_!' She pointed. A good-natured laugh went round.

'The rest of you are just gonna have to form a queue,' Boeshane called over his shoulder, being dragged away into the night by Jon.

Boeshane wasn't the only one who was excited by the sudden collective nudity. Shreena watched as her team split off into small groups, of friends and lovers and one-offs and casual, sexless snuggling parties. She and Julia lay on their discarded clothes, gazing up at the stars, holding hands. The firelight illuminated the curves and lines of bodies - slender and curvy, muscled and bony, every shade and tone, lying close together, touching, interlocking. The heat was deep and comforting, and the hints of breeze were so soft that no one got cold, even stripped.

Jon and Boeshane crept back after a while, and Boeshane - from what Shreena could see with sleepy, firewarm eyes - politely made it up with Brakovitch in a fairly non-verbal and mutually enjoyable way. Julia fell asleep where she lay, and Shreena hitched a blanket over them both and curled up to sleep beside her.

* * *

It was a good night. Most of the Cadets would have ranked it the best night of the year, except that just after dawn, they woke to find they'd accidentally camped out on the proboscis of a huge wild-boar-like monster, which had woken from some deep slumber to find that its nose itched. The subsequent dash to the ship was made without dignity, order, or clothes, and Boeshane didn't stop accelarating til they hit the space lanes.

END  



End file.
